Bloom
by JJJJ12
Summary: Now in an established relationship, things are in the clear for Sherlock and Molly. That's until Sherlock decides to conduct an experiment on "sexual repression" by withholding sex from his precious Molly. Smutty chaos ensues. Sequel to "In the Name of Science" and "Sweet Tea". ONE-SHOT.


Hello again! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on 'In the Name of Science' and 'Sweet Tea'! I have lots of ideas for other stories, but I keep getting inspired to write more stories within that universe, so here's yet another sequel to the previously mentioned stories! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Xxx

Two and a half months had passed since Sherlock and Molly officially entered a relationship—albeit this milestone was according to Molly, since Sherlock had been under the impression that they had been an item for almost six months at the present.

Now that they were officially dating, they could do fun couple things—watch crappy shows on the telly (Sherlock loathed this), shoot holes in the wall (Molly loathed this), or run experiments in the kitchen on Baker Street (Mrs. Hudson loathed this). These ideas of fun outings led to the couple's current evening—a double date with John and Mary.

The foursome sat around the table of a rather elegant restaurant, although three of the four looked worse for wear. The married couple shared identical looks of lifelessness, the bags under their eyes a telling sign of the two-month-old currently in the hands of Mrs. Hudson. Molly looked equally as exhausted, except a tenseness radiated through her petite build, keeping her back rigid and her body on edge. Her hands played mindlessly on her lap, her eyes trained on the slice of cake in front of her.

To round out the group, Sherlock looked… rather like Sherlock. He was satisfied with his meal and well rested, his eyes showing no signs of exhaustion, his body with a certain hum of delight about it. He finished his slice of cake and looked between his three friends.

"Well. This was far more pleasant than I expected," he wiped his mouth with the fancy napkin that laid across his lap, "Both the food and your company."

John couldn't help but roll his eyes, but was prevented from issuing a snarky retort by the sound of his wife's voice. "We were happy to join. I needed an evening out with just adults," Mary let out an exhausted laugh, "It's nice not to smell like nappies for a bit."

"Ah, yes, my godchild. Tell me. Is she taking after me yet? Hopefully she's proving to be quite the clever little girl," Sherlock responded, a proud grin etched across his face.

John rolled his eyes yet again. "She's two months old."

Sherlock shrugged. "Your point? I was practically speaking three languages at that age."

Molly sighed and squeezed Sherlock's hand, reminding the detective to quiet down. "We'd love to visit her again. I'm sure she's grown in just the week since we've last seen her."

The blonde nodded happily. "You're welcome to babysit her whenever you like," she responded with a laugh.

John grabbed his wife's hand and pressed a soft kiss against her wrist. The blonde giggled and smacked his chest, her face turning red. From across the table, Molly shifted uncomfortably before jumping to her feet.

"I'll be right back. Just going to run to the loo," She mumbled, before hurrying off.

Mary noticed her friend's body language and raised an eyebrow. She kissed John's cheek before getting up as well. "I'll join her. You know, lady talk." With that, she scurried off after the brunette.

John watched his wife disappear before turning his attention to Sherlock, who seemed engrossed with his phone. He cleared his throat.

Sherlock didn't look up. "Yes?"

"So. Molly looks… rather knackered. I'm sure she's working too hard, between her actual job and dealing with you," he sipped his beer and continued, "She seems more tired than even Mary and me, and we're dealing with an infant." He sipped his beer again before adding, "I suppose dating you is rather like dealing with an infant."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and finally met his friend's gaze. "Ha. Ha. Ha. John, please share more jokes that are meant to offend me."

John groaned, and upon finishing his own pint, grabbed his wife's wine glass and took a sip. "Molly's my friend. I just don't want her to overwork herself."

"Oh. She's not overworking herself. In fact, she took two days off this week."

John raised an eyebrow. "Then why does she look so knackered?"

The consulting detective sipped his water. "Oh, that? She's… I presume the word used in this situation is typically 'randy'," Sherlock responded, ever so casually.

John opened his mouth, staring at his best mate, the wheels in his head clearly turning. "Come again? Did you just say that Molly's looking so down because she's…" he looked around the restaurant and leaned closer to Sherlock, "horny?"

"Yes." Sherlock again sipped his water, acting as if this token of information was the most obvious detail in the world.

His best friend leaned back in his chair, giving Sherlock one of his best eyebrow raises. "Alright, mate. I thought we were past this, but, is this when I have to give you 'the talk'?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, thank you John, I'm skilled in pleasing my girlfriend."

The shorter man sat up in his seat. "Then why in God's name aren't you?"

Sherlock grinned, clearly having been waiting for the question. He was getting better at waiting. Molly had begun to remind him to only go on lengthy diatribes about his cases and experiments when the listener was actually interested.

"It's rather obvious, John. I'm conducting an experiment."

John just sighed and took another gulp of his wife's wine, waiting to hear what would likely be Sherlock's painfully backwards logic when it came to social endeavors.

"When Molly and I first shagged, she claimed that I was sexually repressed, which is why my body and brain were working against me. At first, I thought her explanation to be based on pure correlation, which as you know does not imply causation,"

Sherlock took a dramatic pause and sipped his water. "But I considered the argument, and determined that to truly test this idea of sexual repression and its effects on the human brain and body, that I'd have to test it with someone who has been having semi-average sex for a long time. And given that Molly's been having at least biannual sex for the past fourteen or so years, she was the prime candidate."

John stared at his best mate, mouth agape. "You've been withholding sex from your girlfriend to run an experiment?"

Sherlock nodded. "We're on day 55."

The shorter man coughed on the wine he was swallowing. "You bloody moron! How in the bloody hell have you lasted 55 days without shagging?"

The detective shrugged. "Well, I certainly have become accustomed to shagging, and I do rather miss it, but I survived thirty-four years without it. Surely I can last the duration of this experiment."

John cursed. "You're a psychopath."

Sherlock opened his mouth, but was quieted by John holding his hand up. "Don't even say it. Never mind."

The detective smirked and sipped his water again. "It's rather important that I get this data. My sexual feelings laid dormant for so long that it's hard to say how it affected me. I need to know how it affects others. You would have been my first choice, since that would have allowed me to continue shagging regularly, but I assumed Mary wouldn't be too pleased."

John narrowed his eyes at his best mate. "Right. How long are you planning on keeping this up for?"

"Until I get the data I need."

"So… Hypothetically speaking, you'd continue this for another six months if you had to?"

Sherlock just nodded. John cursed and rubbed his temples.

"I was right. Dealing with Rosie, a bloody infant who only knows how to cry, is easier than dealing with you."

Sherlock quirked his lips. "Rude. Anyways. I've collected some rather good data. She begins her menses this week. During her last cycle, she almost cried when she saw Mrs. Hudson's lover leave Baker Street in the morning. I'm looking forward to her change in hormones again."

John mumbled to himself before reaching across the table and grabbing Molly's wine glass, having finished his wife's. "Have you considered how this is affecting Molly?"

"Of course. I'm documenting every day. I'm not ignoring her. I still snog her." Sherlock sipped his water and looked at his watch. "Snogging allows me to keep track of her heartbeat. I'm using the data to compare her pulse to during sex, during a snog before the scientific abstinence, and during a snog during the experiment."

John finished Molly's wine in one final pull and gave his best mate a pointed look. "You're playing with fire, mate. Mary went practically nutters while she was pregnant when we had to stop shagging. I almost did too. I don't reckon Molly will be that out of sorts but… sex isn't just about physical release. It's also a show of intimacy. By withholding it… you're messing with the glue of your relationship."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and checked his watch again. "Wonderful speech, John. Clearly our women are having a discussion in the loo. The question is, about what?"

John waved the waiter over and ordered another bottle of wine for the table. "I can give you one guess," the doctor mumbled under his breath.

Xxx

At the back of the restaurant, in a floral scented loo, Molly stared at herself in the mirror. Mary came up beside her, and rested against the clean, porcelain sink.

"So. What's going on? Are you and Sherlock having problems?"

Molly sighed and fiddled with her tiny, black handbag—a gift from Meena for her birthday. She looked at her friend with a sad smile. "I don't know, honestly. I think we're okay but…"

Mary gave her a look. "But what?"

The brunette groaned and hugged her petite form. "We haven't bloody shagged in almost two months! I'm dying!" She released her body and grabbed Mary's arms, staring into the surprised gaze of her friend. "Why won't he shag me?"

Mary couldn't help but laugh. "Oh sweetie… This is Sherlock we're talking about. Who knows why he does anything. Maybe he's on his menses," she added with a chuckle.

Molly sighed and slumped against the sinks. "We'll snog and hold each other but the minute I reach for his trousers, no matter how hard he is, he'll stop and leave!"

Mary frowned and rubbed her friend's back. "I know it must be hard. John and I went about two months without making love during the last month and the month after Rosie's birth. It was awful. But we were distracted with our beautiful baby girl."

The brunette sniffled and reached into her purse, pulling out her favorite tube of lip stick. She began to reapply the color with slightly shaking hands. "What should I do? Does this mean he's not attracted to me?"

Mary laughed again. "Sherlock's most definitely attracted to you. You're the only woman he's ever shown attraction too. And you challenge his brain, which is what captured his heart. I don't know why he's doing what he's doing. You'd have to climb into that big brain of his to figure that one out."

Molly sniffled and tossed the tube back into her purse, before focusing her attention on her hair. She ruffled her curled locks and sighed. "Well then what the hell do I do?"

The blonde just smirked. "You do what women have been doing for ages, Molly. Seduce him. Drive him wild."

Molly swallowed. "Seduce? I don't think Sherlock is capable of being seduced."

Mary smirked again and headed towards the door. "That's where you're wrong, Molly. Sherlock may be difficult to read and unlike anyone else, but he's still a man with needs. I promise you that he's feeling what you're feeling too. So, make it impossible for him to say no."

With that, the blonde left and waltzed out of the loo, leaving Molly to stare at her reflection. With a nervous look around the facility, she adjusted her chest before storming out of the loo with her head held high.

Xxx

A week had passed since Molly and Sherlock had dinner with Mary and John. The married couple was back to devoting every minute of their day to their beautiful baby girl, Molly was back to work, and Sherlock was back to being… Sherlock.

Molly groaned and took a ravenous bite out of her sandwich, her feet tapping anxiously under the stale, white table of the cafeteria. With a swallow, she flipped through the medical journal sprawled out in front of her.

She was going crazy. Her menses had ended yesterday and all she could think about was sex. Sex in her bed. Sex in the shower. Sex in the kitchen. Sex at St. Bart's. Sex in the bloody loo at St. Bart's. She was going mad!

Yesterday she had finally called it quits, and decided to dig out her old friend Indigo for some much-needed release. When she had moved into Baker Street, she had started storing the toy in the bathroom, hiding it in the same pouch she kept her flat iron in. Of course, knowing her luck, when she ventured into the bathroom, it had magically disappeared. Instead of allowing herself to get angry, she decided that she'd just do the deed manually—she had grown up pleasing herself with her fingers. She could do it again.

Of course, Sherlock, the bloody git, decided to get in bed at the same moment and wrap his arms around her body, encaging her for the rest of the evening.

So here she was, eating lunch, and still desperate for an orgasm.

Molly shoved the remaining piece of her sandwich in her mouth and growled. She was finished waiting. She was going to get fucked tonight. Even if she had to hold Sherlock down, she was getting what she wanted.

She blushed at the thought. Okay, she wasn't going to sexually assault her boyfriend, but she would try extremely hard to convince him to shag her should he oppose.

She gave herself a small grin before heading back to the lab.

Xxx

 _Day 63_

 _Final day of menses. Flow light. Hormones still on high alert._

 _Sensitive to all touches, especially on thigh and lower back. Flushed complexion, pupils in almost constant state of dilation._

 _Cried during episode of MasterChef. Cried during episode of TOWIE. Cried when Mrs. Hudson delivered cake from new bakery._

 _Attempted to masturbate at nightfall and searched for sex toy (re: vibrator named Indigo). Was angry and horny when she realized it was gone (stored inside of hallowed out "Ulysses" by James Joyce). Attempted to touch herself with her hands, but was foiled by me._

 _Most severe reactions of experiment since commencement._

 _Current Prediction until breakdown: Day 125, standard deviation 13.67_

 _SH_

Sherlock shut his journal and tucked it away in his favorite hiding space—a hollowed out version of _Murder on the Orient Express_. He had spoiled the book for Molly and she looked so angry, so sexy, that he held onto it for sentimental purposes. And of course, because he solved the case quicker than Poirot did and the presence of the novel was a pleasant reminder of his success.

He slid the book back onto the bookshelf and yawned. He was bored. And since no one in London had decided to kill anyone (at least in an entertaining manner), he was going to torment John by bringing baby Rosie over some toys that would make a lot of noise.

Sherlock slipped into his Belstaff, tied his scarf, and was on his merry way.

Xxx

Molly entered their flat, her feet dragging on the worn wooden floor. She was positively elated that it was Friday, but beyond exhausted from the work week. She hung up her coat and looked around the sitting room, surprised to see Sherlock away from Baker Street. Normally when there was a new case, he'd at least text her about it (that conversation was long overdue, especially after his last virtual disappearance to Belfast and across the pond), so she assumed he was bothering Lestrade or off to pester John about god knows what.

She made her way into the kitchen and pulled out some leftover Thai food before heading back to the telly. She dropped onto the couch and began digging into the food, enjoying the feeling of having her feet up, and Toby's immediate warm presence on her lap.

As she dug into the cold pad Thai and flipped through the channels, she thought back to her conversation with Mary. How on earth could she seduce Sherlock? Sure, since she introduced him to sex, he seemed to open up a bit more. In fact, before her recent…. Dry spell, her and Sherlock had been having regular sex. Constant shagging in fact. It was like the flood gates had been opened! He had gotten a taste, and the consulting detective couldn't keep his hands off her.

Molly groaned and shoved some noodles in her mouth. That was then and this was now. Now he'd indulge her in some snogging, put his hands on her bum, and run off like a scared teenager whenever she palmed his hard length under his trousers.

She frowned and finished the container, finally settling on what appeared to be Kenneth Branagh's version of _Murder on the Orient Express_. Molly tossed the remote and rubbed Toby's head. She loved Kenneth—he was up there with Hugh Grant on her fancied list, somewhere behind Cillian Murphy and George Clooney.

Of course, watching the beginning of the film reminded her of Sherlock spoiling the entire novel for her and she groaned. She loved him, she really did, but sometimes he got on her last nerve. As the film started, she thought about the novel a bit more and sat up straight.

 _Why shouldn't I read it? Who cares if it's been spoiled? Mum ruined Snape killing Dumbledore and I still read the Half-Blood Prince. And Meena spoiled Matthew's death on Downton Abbey and I still managed to watch!_

Molly rubbed her chest and whimpered.

 _That one still hurts._

The pathologist jumped off the sofa and made her way over to Sherlock's bookshelf, quickly finding the book tucked away in alphabetical order with the rest of her classic novels. Besides, the famous book was on her "Read Before You Die" list, and she wasn't going to let Sherlock prevent her from finishing number 34.

Molly grabbed the book and tumbled back onto the sofa, laying back to let Toby reclaim his place on her belly. She smiled and opened the book, knowing that this time, there was nothing Sherlock could do to stop her.

So, imagine her surprise when she finished chapter one (the same bloody place that Sherlock had so cruelly spoiled the book for her, sitting next to her on the couch, texting away on his phone, like the prat he was) and discovered the remainder of the book to be hollowed out, leaving a small journal in the gap created.

Molly let out an exasperated groan and pulled the journal out, wondering what kind of joke this was. She opened to the first page, and began to read.

 _Day 1_

 _No irregular behavior to report. Consistent with three orgasms from previous evening._

 _Skin is flushed and pink. She is well rested, walking with purpose. 5-minute snog before work day—heart rate averages at 105._

 _Current prediction until breakdown: Day 265, standard deviation 15.48_

 _SH_

Molly quirked her eyebrows, unsure of what she had just read. She flipped through a few pages, before settling on a random one.

 _Day 18_

 _Forced me to sit through American film "Fifty Shades of Grey" with Irish actor Jamie Dornan (my American accent is better re: impersonating Buffalo Bill to scare John after watching "Silence of the Lambs", shagging Molly as Detective Shane Henderson of the Atlanta PD, pretending to be American superhero Dr. Strange to appease Molly's nephew)._

 _Pupils dilated from minute 40, with constant state of arousal for entirety of film. Unconscious clenching of thighs, removal of cardigan and socks, periodic shifting closer to my presence on sofa._

 _Allowed passionate snog for approximately 10 minutes—heart rate jumps to 116 at minute 7, averages at 112._

 _Average pulse during snog has increased by, on average, 4 beats per minute (re: graph on following page)_

 _Ending with her reaching for my trousers (painful erection—approximately an 8.5 out of 10)_

 _I must leave her wanting again._

 _Menses begin in approximate 2 days (re: graph on page 4)_

 _Current prediction until breakdown: Day 200, standard deviation 16.02_

 _SH_

Molly gasped and looked at Toby. She had forced Sherlock to watch the film approximately a month and a half ago. And of course, she recognized Sherlock's scribbling. What in God's name was her boyfriend doing?

The pathologist fidgeted in her seat before flipping a few more pages into the journal.

 _Day 45_

 _Angry at me for telling irrationally imaginative nephew Phillip (re: obsessed with super heroes and talking animals) that Scooby-Doo series was unrealistic detective work and that dogs do not in fact talk._

 _Unable to determine if elevated pulse (113 beats per minute) and flushed skin was from yelling at me or from withdrawal from sex._

 _Accepted a chaste kiss but no snogging, thus ending experiment for the day._

 _Current prediction until breakdown: Day 189, standard deviation 13.25_

 _SH_

Molly screamed and shut the book, her thoughts all over the place. She knew exactly what day her boyfriend was speaking of—her brother had thrown a lovely birthday party for her now six-year-old nephew, who absolutely loved dressing up like the Avengers, fighting crime, and solving mysteries. So much so, that he frequently spent his afternoons watching Scooby-doo on the telly.

She had even forced Sherlock to dress up as his new favorite super hero, Dr. Strange, when the little one had broken his arm awhile back.

Molly really thought he liked the child—Sherlock was surprisingly very good with children. But for some reason, watching the animated group of teenagers pull the mask off the villain in the episode airing at Phillip's party had set him off.

Her boyfriend then went on a 5-minute diatribe about dogs not having the vocal range to speak, the non-existence of ghosts (the villain in the episode), the teenagers lacking the means to solve crimes (in course unless they were Sherlock Holmes), and then for the cherry on top—that the birthday boy would never be bit by a radioactive spider or fall into a vat of nuclear waste and gain supernatural abilities.

Phillip ran to his room in tears. So, of course, Molly did what she was best at, and screamed at Sherlock for approximately an entire week to let him know how much of a prat he had been.

She had finally forgiven him when he returned to her brother's place, dressed as Dr. Strange, with John dressed like Spiderman by his side (she was still unsure how he got the doctor roped into that one). Then, according to little Phillip who had called his Aunt excitedly the following day, Sherlock had taken the boy around the city to look for clues to help defeat the bad guy (which apparently was Mycroft, as the clues led to his home).

Molly groaned and pulled at her hair. Moments like that reminded her why she loved Sherlock as much as she did. But with one side glance back to the journal, she realized that he was…she didn't even know what he was doing!

She grabbed the journal and flipped through it again, before finally realizing the detective's game.

" _Breakdown" date? He's monitoring my pulse and my physical state of wellness. He won't let me touch him._

" _I must leave her wanting again"._

Molly dropped the journal, her eyes going wide. Sherlock, the bloody prat! He was tracking how horny she was by purposely withholding sex from her!

She growled and stormed to their bedroom, her head practically exploding with ideas to get Sherlock back. Because she would certainly get him back for this one. 63 days of suffering was 63 days too long.

She stared at her bed and couldn't help but smile.

 _Oh, the game was most certainly on, Sherlock._

Xxx

A few hours passed and Sherlock eventually made his way home. The couple was now sprawled across the sofa, with Toby taking up entirely too much room, watching an episode of _Grey's Anatomy_. She had finally gotten Sherlock to stop commenting on the inaccurate use of medical terminology (and in any rate, she was the doctor!) by threatening a multitude of things.

Molly rather enjoyed that on occasion, Sherlock was scared of her. It usually made her smile. It meant that he truly loved her.

Which is why she needed to teach him a lesson.

Molly turned to look at Sherlock, giving him a saccharine smile. "You mind bringing the tray to the kitchen?" She nodded her head towards the tray, which held two empty cups and the box that had once contained the cake Mrs. Hudson had gifted them with the previous night.

Sherlock looked away from the telly and towards his girlfriend, clearly slightly irritated by the request. He did of course appease his love, and offered her a tiny nod. He raised to his feet and moved to pick up the tray, but the tiny pathologist was too quick. He didn't have a chance to blink before discovering his hands in pink, fuzzy handcuffs, and his girlfriend, grinning in the light of the telly.

"Molly," Sherlock began, hesitantly, "Why am I wearing this contraption?"

Molly just smirked before approaching the astonished detective. "No reason."

Before he could open his mouth to speak, the brunette had pushed him back on the sofa, causing Toby to abandon the cushions with a wide jump and hurry out of the room. As Sherlock stared at her with wide eyes, she turned the telly off and focused her attention on the man in front of her.

"What did you do today, Sherlock?" Molly asked, again sickeningly sweet. Her hands moved to his belt, quickly unfastening the leather and tossing it to the side, all while Sherlock desperately tried to smack her hands away.

"Molly…" He warned, his eyes never leaving the brunette.

Molly smirked and unfastened his trousers, not even bothering to try to pull them down, knowing Sherlock would put up a fight. Instead, she reached for his member through his pants, and managed to free him with little effort. She smiled again and squeezed his length.

Sherlock let out a hiss and shut his eyes, before opening them and refocusing his gaze on his girlfriend. He again tried to push her away, but to no avail.

"Well, since you won't share, I will. Let's see… I had a full day at work," she began, her hands moving leisurely along Sherlock's hardening length, "But I couldn't really focus. I was feeling… tense."

Molly spit onto her hand and wrapped it back around his now fully hard cock, her brown eyes piercing into Sherlock's blue orbs. "You see, for some reason, my boyfriend was refusing to have sex with me. I was starting to get concerned that he didn't find me attractive. I was bloody horny, and it was starting to affect my work."

At her words, she noticed his face fall, ever so slightly, indicating that per usual, Sherlock hadn't thought about the consequences of his actions on other people. At any rate, Molly was more concerned about teaching him a lesson than being angry.

Her hand continued to move at a rapid pace, her eyes trained on Sherlock's face. Her boyfriend gazed at her before his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

 _So, this had been hard on him too._

She giggled.

 _Hard on._

Molly bit her lip and dropped her hand, quickly enveloping as much of his length as she could in her eager mouth. She moved and began to suck on his hard length, her tongue doing delicious things along every inch she could access.

Sherlock grunted and met her eyes, immediately captivated by her chocolate orbs, and the way her lips eagerly welcomed his engorged length in her mouth. Her ministrations were brutal, and with a shaky moan, he knew he was near the end.

The brunette smirked and removed her mouth, all while keeping her eyes trained on the consulting detective. After their time together, Molly had learned what Sherlock's orgasm face looked like, and she knew he was almost there.

She wrapped her hand around his length again and caressed his member for a few more moments, before completely abandoning the task. She raised to her feet and took a step away.

Sherlock opened his eyes, having shut them in preparation for what was to come, and looked at his girlfriend with desperate eyes.

"Molly," he groaned, "Why did you bloody stop? I was almost there!" Sherlock practically whined.

Molly crossed her arms and glared at her boyfriend. "Oh, I don't know Sherlock. What's an appropriate answer? How about, I'm conducting an experiment without informing my partner?"

Sherlock swallowed and shifted, his wet length bobbing as his hips shifted. "That's… Well…"

"Wow, the great Sherlock Holmes, speechless once and for all!"

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, I-"

Molly shook her head. "No! There is no excuse for what you did Sherlock. Conducting an experiment by withholding sex? That's just… cruel!"

Sherlock groaned. "Yes, well, it was rather difficult for me too."

"Then why did you do it?!"

Sherlock sighed. "I enjoy a good experiment. If it makes you feel any better, John was my first choice, but I knew Mary wouldn't be pleased."

Molly let out a growl and dropped his pyjama bottoms and her knickers in one pull. "Makes me feel any better? No, Sherlock, what's going to make me feel better is a fucking orgasm, and a bloody good one at that."

Before Sherlock could respond, Molly threw her legs over his sides, resting her knees on the sofa, and rubbed his hard length along her damp center. They let out a simultaneous groan.

"Molly… Please… Let me out of this so I can shag you properly."

Molly shook her head and grinded against his length. "No, Sherlock. You're being taught a lesson. Since you wouldn't let me wank last night, I'll just use you like a sex toy. Would you like that? Doing Indigo's job? Being a faceless cock for me to fuck?"

Sherlock just smirked at his girlfriend. "I'll shag you however you'd like Molly. Besides, this is great data."

Molly gasped in outrage, but was left speechless when her boyfriend thrusted his hips up, finally impaling her body on his cock. Molly let out a strangled cry, followed by a loud moan from the consulting detective.

The brunette wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his, glaring into his blue orbs.

"Oh god, Sherlock, you have a lot of fucking nerve," she moaned out, allowing herself to ride his toned body, "When will you learn that we're in this together?"

Sherlock groaned and tossed his head back, desperately trying to slide his hands out of the fuzzy pink contraption. "Christ Molly, I-" He let out another loud moan and threw his hips up, meeting her desperate movements.

Molly leaned down and captured his lips in hers, her body continuing to move as quickly as her aching thighs and calves would let her.

The couple continued a passionate snog, Molly's hands lost in the sea of Sherlock's curls, and Sherlock's hands in well… pink fuzzy handcuffs. The brunette could sense his erratic hip movements, and with one final, delicious meeting of their bodies, they let out identical cries, Molly dropping her head to his chest, and Sherlock dropping his to the edge of the sofa.

Molly moaned and ran her hands from his neck to his chest, which was still encased in one of his usual tight, buttoned shirts. She pulled at the soft material and glared at her boyfriend, their bodies still connected.

"Sherlock, why don't you ever make this easy?" She finally whispered, her hands playing with his buttons.

The consulting detective met her gaze and frowned ever so softly. In a short three seconds, his hands were out of the handcuffs and holding Molly's small hands, his thumbs brushing along the skin.

Molly gasped and stared at him. "How did you get out of those?!"

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, Molly, come on. You're smart. You couldn't possibly think that a pair of handcuffs from a cheap sex shop was going to keep me locked up."

She glared. "So… You could have taken them off the entire time?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't because?"

Sherlock grinned. "Well, I was rather curious what you had in store. And I admit, I was shocked that you found my journal. I could have sworn you'd never try to read that horrid novel again."

Molly groaned and pulled herself off his lap, feeling his warm essence seep out down her legs. She met Sherlock's eyes again. "What were you getting at? What the hell goes on in that big, fat brain of yours?"

The detective rose to his feet, tucking himself back in his pants in the process. "I wanted to test your theory about sexual repression. Since I had never had sex before, I wanted someone who had. Someone who had been having regular sex for a while and how they reacted when their activity ceased."

Molly smacked his chest and crossed his arms. "Why can't you have normal hobbies like other blokes? Why can't you read? Or cycle? Or run? Something besides all these bloody experiments! Didn't you learn your lesson after trying to condition John to want tea after every time you said Mycroft's name?"

Sherlock smirked. "No, quite the contrary. My success on that experiment only encouraged me more. Did you know that your nephew now wants an ice lolly every time he hears my name? It practically guarantees that I'm in his good graces."

The pathologist took a deep breath and met Sherlock's blue eyes. "I love you for who you are. I've tolerated these experiments and my fridge being filled with human body parts, and my favorite shows being spoiled and all the delightfully weird things that you do that make you… well you. But I do have a cutoff point somewhere, Sherlock, and that's when you bloody prevent me from having sex!"

Sherlock blinked. "I really didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Molly growled. "I like shagging, Sherlock, and I especially like shagging you. So please, don't you ever withhold sex from me again, or I promise the consequences will be dire."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "How dire?"

Molly smirked. "Somewhere along the lines of no sex, brunches with Anderson, dressing up for Phillip and his mates, taking Mrs. Hudson shopping, listen to John talk about football… The list could go on but I'm sure that is sufficient."

Sherlock cursed under his breath and brought Molly's hand to his face. He pressed a chaste kiss to her hand and looked at her. "Those do sound awful. But not as awful as having you angry at me. I'm sorry. You know I'm still working on…well…sentiment. It was never my forte. So, I'm still having trouble figuring out what is likely to hurt people."

The brunette kissed his nose, her eyes full of love. "I know, Sherlock, but that's why you talk to me. Ask. We'll figure it out together. We do things together now."

Sherlock nodded and kissed her softly. He grabbed her hand and led her towards the bedroom. "Well… I rather say that was fun."

Molly couldn't help but quirk her lips. "Really, now? Did you like not being in control?"

Sherlock just smirked. "I suppose so. But, Molly, I'm always really in control."

The pathologist narrowed her eyes. "Oh? Should we challenge that? Because I'd wager that you aren't."

"Mhm. If you'd like to be proven wrong, be my guest."

"Or, I can just stick to Indigo from now on," Molly retorted with a smirk.

Having shed his clothes, Sherlock wrapped his now nude body in a dressing gown, his eyes never leaving those of his girlfriend.

"As you wish, Molly. Good luck finding him."

With that, Sherlock strolled into the bathroom.

Molly let out a frustrated scream. "I hate you so much!"

Sherlock popped his head out. "No, you don't."

Molly sighed and wrapped her own nude body in a dressing gown.

"You're right. I don't."

Sherlock winked and looked at his dashing girlfriend. With a grin, he added, "A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery."

Molly gasped and bolted out the bedroom door, squealing out "Joyce!"

Sherlock stepped into the shower, grinning like a fool. Thank god he had a clever girlfriend. A clever girlfriend who loved him to bits. Her presence should compel him to cut down on the experiments.

As he ran his head under the hot water, he smirked again.

 _Not a chance. There's still so much to learn. And they're so bloody fun._

 _Now, how to condition Toby?_

 _The end xxx_

Xxx

And that's it! I hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know your thoughts—I still have a few ideas for stories in this universe, but also some other ideas for other Sherlock/Molly stories, so we shall see : ) again, thanks for reading and please leave your thoughts! Much appreciated!

Note:

It seems that a few of you guys think that Sherlock did something seriously wrong and/or Molly forgave him too quickly. Of course, the one-shot is up to your own interpretation and you are free to feel/comment as you please. I do want to mention however that Sherlock's characterization on the show is someone that is easily bored, hence his constant use of the word. He would get bored when surrounded by normalcy and consistency i.e. a relationship. Therefore, I don't think it is out of the realm of possibility that he would do something such as this, especially because he is so poor at evaluating how his actions and words will hurt other people. Since Molly knows and understands this, I think she would be more understanding and forgiving than the average person, especially since his intentions were pure. While Sherlock is a loving character, and surely his behavior would change slightly should he enter a relationship with Molly (or anyone for that matter), he is still Sherlock Holmes at his core and he is, as John says, a bit not good.

Thanks and no matter your thoughts, I hope you at least enjoyed it!


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